Really chuffed to have these 4 love poems published by dedicated Editor Nolcha Fox in ChewersMasticadores. Love the presentation.
4 Love Poems by Strider Marcus Jones
NO ROADS
with no roads on our map of conversation,
we began
without plan,
and climbed, into the branches of imagination,
past the twigs and leaves-
those apothecaries
of lost libation,
into houred improvisation-
through its desert wanting rain
after years of stasis,
in a slow camel train
searching for that oasis-
with moving dunes
and negative runes
fending off the grey
in a charmed, nomadic way.
happen then, that this cold acoustic tune,
met your luteful lagoon
of mosaical notes-
and the baton moved,
as was proved
round the wheel with ambient spokes,
conducting without rules
our forgotten fools.
somehow,
go now,
through the eye of words,
to the heart of this rhythm
and the scion of its schism;
then home, like migrating birds
into separate nests-
for now, love rests.
***
SILHOUETTES OF LOVE AND LUST
i love to watch the chocolate
slowly melt
between your lips
of silky liquid felt,
then lick and lap
soft suck sips
in rhythm with your hips,
making such moments of motion
plough tidal waves in your ocean
as each surge of storm
throbs to be born
until the stone and dust
of autumn yellow moon
casts silhouettes of love and lust
that burst and bloom
through every love-soaked scented night
shuttered from politics so cocooned
in plutocracies of blight.
***
PULSATING FLOWERS
so define me
now you know
the nature of my ways.
understand me
somehow, slow-
love is more, than what it says:
frequent pulsating flowers,
pollening my hands and inky breath;
softening, those quiet hours
through life and death.
close-ups and downs
that fit together,
challenging the bounds
in bonds that stretch forever:
postures in sounds
and elemental words
of surprise and wit-
found in tea leaf grounds
that make reluctant lovers
come to it.
***
OUR TALK
the soft wind, stroking your smiling face,
fingers your fine combed hair, in out of place-
and i know
when you go
nothing can make this mood,
or give its famine food.
our talk, branching through woods and sky
like young leaves, suddenly knowing why-
they need the sun again
to be, and to remain-
more than a copied canopy
to reach the plain out to me.
i lounge, in your living words libation,
with uncommon nouns, uncovered in creation,
and wait for wantings i can be-
where complex minds dwell in that simplicity,
where feelings go to touch
and come to mean so much.
Copyright © 2025 Strider Marcus Jones
All Rights Reserved
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: Poppy Road Review; The Galway Review; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; The Lampeter Review; Panoplyzine Poetry Magazine and Dissident Voice.
Thrilled to have my poem " The Mess of Thrown-off Clothes" published in the superb Issue 11 of Porch Literary Magazine. Thank you to the Editors and congratulations to all contributors. The Mess of Thrown-off Clothes – Porch Litmag
by Strider Marcus Jones
i listen
to your love beads glisten
in the flotsam
of my room-
we make them
from samurai sword folds
at forge and loom
in the mess of thrown off clothes.
so many smoke me kisses
at portal doors,
and mithril wishes
on primitive floors-
take us back again
through heath and fen
to imitate
lost landscape-
cycle
and circle
sky and stone
outside and home-
in love in less
with your heavenliness,
and loneliness
durable under duress.
Strider Marcus Jones is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal. A member of The Poetry Society, and nominated for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his five published books of poetry reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms. His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine, Crack The Spine Literary Magazine, The Recusant, The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice.
Delighted to have one of my Haiku in the Best of The Mainichi in Japan 2024. Many thanks to Dhugal J Lindsay.
https://cdn.mainichi.jp/.../20250210p2a00m0et001.../0.pdf...
Strider Marcus Jones (UK)
turning wheel of time
paddle steamboat roaming down
the Mississippi
June 1, 2024
Comment: We think back to the time of Tom Sawyer.
Delighted to have my poem The Door published by brilliant Editor Barbara Leonhard on the fabulous MasticadoresUSA Magazine site today. https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2025/02/14/the-door-by-strider-marcus-jones/
“The Door” by Strider Marcus Jones
Posted by Meelosmomon
The Door
the door
between skyfloor
topbottom
is rankrotten
portalbliss
or abjectabyss.
it contains conversations
confrontations,
hiding loves two-ings
in lost ruins-
shuts us inside ourself
with or without someone else.
we,
the un-free,
disenfranchised poor
have no bowl of more-
only pain
on the same plain
as before,
homeless
or in shapeless boxes,
worked out, hunted, like urban foxes-
outlaws on common lands
stolen from empty hands.
files on us found
from gathering sound
where mutations abound
put troops on the ground.
Copyright © 2024 Strider Marcus Jones
All Rights ReservedStrider Marcus Jones is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms. His poetry has been published in over 200 publications worldwide including: Dreich Magazine; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Melbourne Culture Corner; Literary Yard Journal; The Galway Review; Cajun Mutt Press; Rye Whiskey Review; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; and Dissident Voice.
Delighted to have my poem Trapped in Manufactured Time published in The Crossroads Literary Magazine. My thanks to Editor John Patrick Robbins. https://thecrossroadlitmagazine.blogspot.com/2025/01/trapped-in-manufactured-time-by-strider.html
TRAPPED IN MANUFACTURED TIME
so lost schooled-
but not a fool,
stands in cold sunshine
on golden heath
where no kings rule
and ancestors of cottons thief,
make poor ends meet for dirty dime-
trapped in manufactured time.
he sits
and fits
in the shadows of its shades
and lines
on Cribden hill-
where clouds spill
like wire brillowed blinds,
imagining a wintered witch
composing pagan spells and rhymes
with bones like martyred blades,
whose burned marrow curses
industrialists and tokened slaves-
to believe a full purse is
how life measures made.
the trees are gone,
and wandering tribes,
who worked and gathered everything as one-
now live down in gas warmed hives,
in settled serfdom's
truths and lies.
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, and nominated for both the Pushcart Prize x3 and Best of the Net x3, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
Thanks to Editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my poem The Other Self latinosenglishedition.wordpress.com/2025/01/28/t…
The Other Self
the other self
abstracted in the press
of turned down pages,
gets mucked up in the mess
and shows how unlaminated age is.
if nothing else-
these nude notes
being played behind the curtain
where the stage is,
by soloist strings
and hermit woodwinds-
are far hopes
of uncertain
opening chords
calling out
to the duet
i haven't come to yet.
and afterwards,
if all those afterwards
could talk and kiss and spout,
there would be
no more misery
move it out.
Copyright © 2025 Strider Marcus Jones
All Rights Reserved
***
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His poetry has been published in over 200 publications worldwide including: Dreich Magazine; dyst Literary Journal; Impspired Magazine; Melbourne Culture Corner; Literary Yard Journal; The Galway Review; Cajun Mutt Press; Rye Whiskey Review; The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine; and Dissident Voice.
Thrilled to have six of my poems published in this stunning issue 30 of 100Subtexts Magazine. Congratulations to editor John Hopper and all contributors. 100subtextsmagazine.blogspot.com/2025/01/100s…
Thrilled to have six of my poems in this stunning issue. Congratulations to editor John Hopper and all contributors. 100subtextsmagazine.blogspot.com/2025/01/100s…
NO ROADS
with no roads on our map of conversation,
we began
without plan,
and climbed, into the branches of imagination,
past the twigs and leaves-
those apothecaries
of lost libation,
into houred improvisation-
through its desert wanting rain
after years of stasis,
in a slow camel train
searching for that oasis-
with moving dunes
and negative runes
fending off the grey
in a charmed, nomadic way.
happen then, that this cold acoustic tune,
met your luteful lagoon
of mosaical notes-
and the baton moved,
as was proved
round the wheel with ambient spokes,
conducting without rules
our forgotten fools.
somehow,
go now,
through the eye of words,
to the heart of this rhythm
and the scion of its schism;
then home, like migrating birds
into separate nests-
for now, love rests.
SILHOUETTES OF LOVE AND LUST
i love to watch the chocolate
slowly melt
between your lips
of silky liquid felt,
then lick and lap
soft suck sips
in rhythm with your hips,
making such moments of motion
plough tidal waves in your ocean
as each surge of storm
throbs to be born
until the stone and dust
of autumn yellow moon
casts silhouettes of love and lust
that burst and bloom
through every love-soaked scented night
shuttered from politics so cocooned
in plutocracies of blight.
SO OPEN, BUT SO SILENT TO YOURSELF
so open, but so silent to yourself,
like missing books messing up a shelf-
some unfinished, the others read,
somewhere else in someone's head.
reason is reluctant to be heard
in conscience corrupt by tyranny blurred-
so leave the breaks in moorland grass,
and bound
unfound
where hours don't turn round
inside this glass
duplicity and old division
of curtained cell
instead of prism
equal and parallel-
go, go without trace
into uncovered space
revealing your own face.
OVIRI (The Savage-Paul Gauguin in Tahiti)
woman,
wearing the conscience of the world-
you make me want
less civilisation
and more meaning.
drinking absinthe together,
hand rolling and smoking cigars-
being is, what it really is-
fucking on palm leaves
under tropical rain.
beauty and syphilis happily cohabit,
painting your colours
on a parallel canvas
to exhibit in Paris
the paradox of you.
somewhere in your arms-
i forget my savage self,
inseminating womb
selected by pheromones
at the pace of evolution.
later. I vomited arsenic on the mountain and returned
to sup morphine. spread ointments on the sores, and ask:
where do we come from.
what are we.
where are we going.
FLOATY BOATY
old tracks and elven voices
through the ages clear,
echo those rejoices
then and now, not here.
into the West they went,
leaving behind her music and her scent
in the candle of her moon
and word warmed room
of silver branches-
where streams flow up
and starlight dances
over the cup
of cerebral foreplay
that makes the melancholy mundane day
go floaty boaty
on mental maps
where lips lapped
and tongue tip tapped
forward and back
on moist moaty-
a sensuous place, where conversations dream,
floated in speech bubbles above the scene,
anchored to each mouth and head-
stroking the music rising from the bed.
LOVE IS STRIPPED TO SHARING BREAD
we were kissing
and dancing
to a kitchen song,
talking with our wine
and smoking bong-
then you pushed your pierced pin
of forged fire
further in
the groove of my desire
with your tongue.
later,
up the creaking wooden escalator-
"let me do you" i said
peeling back your petals
with my voice:
love is stripped to sharing bread
abroad-in plain rooms-where Nora and Joyce
reject precious metals.
it brings to craggy green cliffs
that STILL talk-
of two minds, in the sea born mist
of one thought-
why should four legs walk
under clouds adrift.
glum damp rock moss cups
when we go to ground
under body musk
and pagan sound-
the meaning of the hour
when lit lusts flower
fills the air
everywhere
at last
and the future does not imitate the past.
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, and nominated for both the Pushcart Prize x3 and Best of the Net x3, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.
His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine;The Recusant, The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice.
Thrilled to have six poems featured in the wonderful Bold Monkey Review. Thankye to editor George Anderson. georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2025/01/feat...
Featuring: Strider Marcus Jones
CHANGELING TIMES
as these middle years back bleed,
the rags of old memories recede
into heirlooms handed on
forged in fondness, been and gone.
no time can turn back its mistakes
or mend the piece an action breaks,
to be the way it was before
its nature changed, to less, no more-
like fragments of the whole
tapestry, that reach out to find a role
in these changeling times
of lost roots and fading lines.
a trace of old hypnotic scent
and lived in words, now cold and spent,
separate in the centrifuge
of time through space and spinning blues.
the face and timbre of fate and facts
grow parallel and parallax,
when love leaves on opposite trains
in summer sun and grainy rains.
THE PATH, THE FENCE, THE FIELDS
we walk by the river
talking inside ourselves,
like rhapsodies in two reflections-
different, but the same.
the path, the fence, the fields-
unknown obstacles that stare
through then, and now, beyond-
have heard love chime before.
ahead the river breaks
going separate ways,
but we stick to the same side
in the willow woods
and farms of flooded fields-
with ascension stroking
each reaction
phosphorus in the rain.
ADUMBRATE LOVES SHALLOWS
goddess of the moon
fusion of light and shadow,
come now, light my room-
make darkness shrink and narrow.
gravitate to me
awake inside unnatural light,
half written, half unknown i be
eclipsed in doubt, but inward bright.
bring your blooms to this fallow bed
alone in fates sad stare,
wrap me in your ethereal thread,
to reset time and covet care.
adumbrate loves shallows
in my sanctum core,
where the pastels fade and pallow
without depth and shade on dwindling shore.
BOOTS OF HARLEY
this universe has no center
and you're not there.
this sun is only sunny on the hood-
its light can't bend more benter
to be fair
as time stops running rings in wood.
the floorboards creak
and pictures speak
when I stand in empty corners making room,
for ghosts that want to have my seat
when they come in from the street
after riding like Valhalla under sun and moon.
summer shoes,
with beards of barley
in their soley grooves-
still think they're boots of Harley
on electra glide down highway avenues-
with a woman's arms around my waist
singing Bob Marley
and promising me her taste.
foot down. legs braced-
rocking back the headboard on the bed and base
in the hanging of her breasts
where my head would rest,
her lips a vanished beauty of the past-
explode
unload
to this contrast-
that turns its empty pages in my head
unlit, as I lie in bed,
running out of Kerouac road-
i feel the beat
and go to sleep
with some more story told.
This Theatre of Show
i want to go
where love songs grow,
on the radio
into someone's heart.
i want to know
if i play too slow,
and fade before the glow
can flame and spark.
i mend a dream,
distil it, to mountains seen
through mind and eyes potcheen,
lotioned by loves mark;
with tongue dabbing gleam
in fast flowing stream
of sweet nectarine
from sun up through sun dark.
i want your glow
in the thoughts i know,
before they dim down low
and depart-
this theatre of show
above and below,
where we all act to know
our own part.
so many vines
in the times
i know,
grape, but fail to flower.
i taste their wine
in its summertime,
but show
i am just a shower.
The Mess of Thrown Off Clothes
i listen
to your love beads glisten
in the flotsam
of my room-
we make them
from samurai sword folds
at forge and loom
in the mess of thrown off clothes.
so many smoke me kisses
at portal doors,
and mithril wishes
on primitive floors-
take us back again
through heath and fen
to imitate
lost landscape-
cycle
and circle
sky and stone
outside and home-
in love in less
with your heavenliness,
and loneliness
durable under duress.
Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford,
England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of
Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of
The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smokey rooms.
His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington
Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary
Magazine;The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize x3 and Best of the Net x3.
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